I am not hag's hair
by Di LaMerr
Summary: Written for the summer 2015 SS/HG promptfest Prompt from Iuls: When Eileen Snape resurfaces several years after the war and begins interviewing suitable marital candidates for her son, Hermione is both alarmed and intrigued. Severus is mostly just alarmed. It's her wedding day, and Hermione looks back at how the hell she ended up marrying Severus Snape.


Molly is crying, again, why won't she shut up! You would think I am marrying an abusive monster the way she wails.  
She and Arthur are sitting next to Severus' mothers. Eileen, the reason we are partaking of this travesty - I can manage to say no to my parents, but Severus Snape who made many a student cry with a look, can't say no to his mother, ever.  
And Minvera (our saviour), who after trying to kill him for Albus' murder was so wrought with guilt she adopted him on his not quite deathbed.  
The Rector has already given us looks, clearly he doesn't believe us that one is the birth mother and the other the adoptive, but who would? They do so act like embattled lovers.

The church is full, the Weasleys are sitting on the groom's side along with the Malfoys, a great gulf between them as if anyone would mistake them for acquaintances.  
One family understands the intricacies of muggle formal dress, one does not. Take your guess.  
Between them a swath of Hogwarts teachers, Magical persons of note, and order members all appropriately dressed, no doubt there due to curiosity and the threat of Minerva's spite should she feel this wedding slighted. There is no love lost between the Order and their spy still.  
Severus' employees, the mysterious Unspeakables and assorted aurors fill the back pews.  
My side is filled with family, childhood friends nearly forgotten, and my parents friends who are here because my mother wants to ram it down their throats that her daughter did not end up a spinster with a house full of cats.

As for the groom he is resplendent in his white tie and McGonagall tartan, dripping gravitas while his temple thrums in beat to Harry's nervously tapping foot, maybe having Harry for my Maid of Honour wasn't the smartest move.  
Severus brings my attention back with a gentle thumb against my cheek, I realize he has been given permission to "kiss the bride."  
He lowers his head, those eyes make me promises, no children, there's always poison. Someone on his side shouts lurid advice - Weasley twin. I feel the air of a silent sigh ghost past my lips just as my eye flutter closed and he kisses me. The kiss is soft, gentle, sweet, everything that Severus is when his armour is ripped away.  
Aunt Gloria, I can tell her high pitched voice anywhere starts a chant of "Kiss, kiss, kiss."  
Severus lips still against mine quirk, his hand against my cheek twitches just a bit, Aunt Gloria will never know how close she came to a well placed hex.

I am pretty sure my cousin Joanne is close to being crucio-ed by one of the elder Malfoys. The sight of Draco taking a shot from between her breast is horrifyingly funny to me. All those prim manners gone at the sight of a pair of triple d's in a bandage dress.  
Ron watches them with a more than slightly jealous look in his eyes, I wonder how he managed to stay with my b cups so long, and why I didn't hex his bullocks earlier. Ron brings out these feelings in me, long gone is the urge to hold him, now I just want to strangle him … slowly for the wasted years.  
Minerva catches my elbow steering me towards Severus. She doesn't say a word, doesn't need to for this silent reminder, this is our magnum opus.  
I smile and reach for Severus, he wraps his arm around my waist and draws me in, a display that I would have never thought him capable of a year ago, my parents beam at us.  
Molly starts sniffling again, Eileen eyes her across the room lips curled in disgust.  
Harry knocks back a shot of something green, please don't let it be absinthe, please don't let it be absinthe. Shite it probably is, the twins look gleeful as they pour him another.  
How did we manage to get here?  
Oh yes, one Dumbledore - deceased, the Wizengamot, a mother committed to seeing grandchildren, no matter how much the future father objected, and the liberal application of phoenix tears.  
It's such a convoluted story I have no idea how I wrap my mind around it, I daren't try to explain it to my parents. They know I saved Severus, that is enough.  
It is enough to know that I am a hero in a world that we do not share. It makes them happy to smile at their friends and tell them I work in Scotland at a private school, deputy headmistress, youngest ever.  
Their pride at what I have done transcends magical and muggle worlds and words, the primitive delight at the child you have raised excelling, being happy, finding love. I would not spoil it with law, life debts, and cultural relevance.  
Severus whispers in my ear, the velvet of his voice warms me, his voice should be illegal. I smile and follow him onto the dance floor for a waltz. He places a hand against my back, and presents the other to me. I slip my hand into his, my hand feels so small. Held against him I feel small, protected.

-oSo-

I catalogue the steps that have brought us here. That night in the shack, his blood on my hands as I held his neck closed and poured priceless phoenix tears drop by drop into the gaping wound, praying to every deity I could remember. Apology after apology spilling from my lips ceaselessly until finally his grating whisper of "Shut up Miss Granger."  
A life debt sealed.  
I remember the exact words of the ministry notice, it is seared into my mind

 _ **The Ministry of Magic, MOM, announces the reinstatement of Graphe Opsigamio, and Graphe Agamiou as of the 8th of July the year 2004. Applicable to both agnatic and matriline primogeniture of historically attestable participants. Filing at the Hall of Archives, closed Wizengamot decisions with single investigator.**_

Three lines squashed between a hat ad, third string Quidditch coverage, and pyre builders, that I'd skipped it over as irrelevant that came to dominate my life.  
I remember the first interview I went to, the crisp white of the envelope, the flow of the script; my laughter at the thought that someone believed that they could force an adult into marriage.  
Augusta Longbottom did not share my amusement, nor did she appreciate my strong opinions on marriage. The fact that Neville was more likely to marry Harry than I? Meaningless to her.

By the time Eileen Snape nee Prince sent her tersely worded missive there was not the slightest bit of mirth left in me. I wanted to storm the Ministry, I settled for Snape's flat.  
Snape and I have, had, this semi-adversarial relationship. I tried to be his friend, he rejected my friendship but answered my owls politely mostly.  
I am a couple steps above Harry, quite a few below Minerva, and floors above any one with red hair.  
I went prepared for war, which is best when dealing with Severus; I left oddly fascinated, curious, and disturbed that a grown man with no deep wish for a wife and children would go along with this farce.  
He ushered me into living room, still the same Snape compressed in black, and dripping acid.  
"Your mother has sent me an invitation to tea, interview to follow."  
The sharp rise of his eye brow spoke volumes.  
"Say something!"  
"I do not believe I have gained the verbal skills that could possibly express how I feel."  
"Really?"  
"Tea Granger?"  
"Your mother is trying to sell, sorry, marry you off, and you offer me tea?"  
"Fire whiskey then? It's not as if I'm hags hair, no one can sell me."  
We settled on wine.  
We thought, erroneously, that this would pass, that like most of the laws after the war it would be a footnote in history. We forgot how beloved rituals are to the magical world.

-oSo-

The flash of a camera and a drunken plea from Ron to, "smash the bloody cake in the git's face!" This is our cake cutting.  
Severus' ever eloquent eyebrow ticks up, there's a yelp as a silent hex hits home, and Ron huffs turning on his heel making for the door.  
Harry looks between us, offers what I can only believe are silent apologies as he follows him.  
And he never stops complaining that "Snape don't respect me does he!". That's why.

My eyes follow Severus' to his watch, how much longer must we stay?  
Weddings should be moments of joy, not necessarily the bride and groom's.  
This is what Eileen and my mother believe would make us happy … maybe … in the future when we look through albums with children we don't want. However it makes them happy now.  
Eileen living out her dream wedding, forcing it down our craws out of sheer vindictiveness. I rejected her culture, I rejected rituals older than nations. I'm paying for the rebuff in high heels, a corset, and enough Sleekeazy's to sink a ship. Meanwhile my mother is revelling in joy that she managed to stuff me into a white gown.

The photographer is back, I smile, Severus glares, the picture is taken and we are left alone for a moment.  
His hand rubs smalls circles on my back, a reassuring presence. I lean against him, "Bulstrode didn't come?"  
"Mrs Northwall is playing the Kites today."  
"You know you could have married her."  
"Millicent Bulstrode is a suitable companion for drinking, not matrimony."

-oSo-

Bulstrode was the point where I believed that Severus would eventually marry someone his mother presented; some half woman child (in his eyes) that he would protect.  
Personally I have nothing against her, she's a self serving bitch but as a generation of wounded child soldiers, we all are.  
We, Severus and I, had begun our weekly drinking meet up by that time, or rather I started barging into his life each week bottle in hand. Laying the debris of my life on the lap of one of the few people who could understand, and we fell into friendship as antisocial bookworms do, over wine and books.  
We shared stories of students, interviews and meetings, and methods for dealing with each.  
My using his life debt as an excuse for not allowing his mother an interview was declared, "Brilliant."  
His Hogs Heads dinner tale is in my book, epic. I feel for Etoila Markpump but still.  
Then came Millicent. Millicent was like most of us locked in this law, she didn't want to be married. She was happily sleeping her way through every female player in the Quidditch league who was similarly inclined.  
Her grandmother had corresponded with Eileen, then Severus and Blustrode had been forced to "meet".  
I wish I could have been a fly on the wall, Severus tells the story in much the same way he taught – not as enjoyable as his first year speech.  
"She was crass Granger! She wore a suit."  
He looked at me through slitted eyes. "Save your equality blathering, this is the magical world! Robes were the only suitable clothing allowed for a meeting."  
I rolled my eyes, I'd seen Bulstrode in pictures, she always wears suits; beautiful constructed three piece suits that made her breast defy gravity and give her a surprisingly feminine shape that I can admit I want to know the charms for. Severus was just nit picking.  
"I don't expect you will understand until the first years you have taught leave school, it is uncomfortable to have a child you walked to Poppy at her menarche speak so freely of her sexual proclivities."  
I laughed and nodded but as he continued I could see it, a soft spot for his snake. Millicent was happy, she laughed freely, lived her dreams; she encapsulated every wish he held for the Slytherins he had protected with a heavy hand. If she had needed him to, he would have married her. Self sacrificing arse.  
Little did I understand he'd already found that person.

I couldn't help poking at him, starting an argument we'd have ten times over, if not more. "May I remind you this all is an archaic practice based on the misogynistic idea of human chattel! You don't have to go along with it."  
"This is why the elves won't clean your rooms Granger, you lack cultural sensitivity!" He ducked as my hat sailed across the room.  
"You would think Granger you'd be happy seeing it applied in a misandric form."  
"I'd be happy not to drink tea with the Rowles in that case. You could enjoy the Prophet debating the worthiness of Marcheline Malfoi verses Pansy Parkinson taking your hand in marriage."  
"That's unbelievably low even for you Granger, and you've lit me on fire."  
The corners of his mouth lift minutely, a wry smile "You know I have offered …"  
"Snape I can't poison everyone I don't like, I'd kill half the sodding country."  
"I find no objection to that."  
"Because you are a mardy bastard Severus Snape."  
I think that was when I knew we were friends, Severus Snape offers the finest of poisons only to those he cares about, the list is short most of its occupants dead.

-oSo-

Erine Prang pops his head in, yes we can leave.  
The wedding coordinator starts directing people to the gardens for fireworks, in the excitement we are forgotten or maybe it's a Confundus, I don't care. A quick tap of Severus' wand we are Disillusioned.  
We'll pay for this with our mothers later, but as we slip into my little Citroen I don't care. I'm just happy to leave. I tuck the car into first and smile, freedom.

Thirty minutes to George on the Rye Severus is sleeping, little huffs of not quite snores that I will tease him about later. One hand even in sleep hoovering near his wand, his face relaxed. I tear my eyes back to the road, and let my thoughts drift as I enjoy the drive.

-oSo-

Marcheline Malfoi, we'd met once, she sat in the front row of a talk I'd given during my Arithmancy mastery, pale and impossibly beautiful in the Malfoy way. I thought she was beautiful, I knew she was smart, she was possibly the best match of all his meetings, having a single positive link to the war, and the grace of never having sat in Severus' potions class.  
Marcheline disturbed Severus, he didn't say it always circumspect as it came to the Malfoys, he has so few friends. But we had the unlucky chance of being forced into meeting at the same place; Saturday afternoon in a tea house with strangers we wanted to remain so, the Prophet photographer milling around outside. Hell.  
Our eyes had met across the room our looks mirrored each other, desperation.  
Blodwyn McLaggen ignoring everything I'd said forging on in a conversation I'd ceased to participate in, leaving me bored and disconnected my eyes wandered.

Marcheline's virginal beauty striking against the starkness of Severus, him leaning in to hear what she said, she leaning back as if uncomfortable to have a man so near.  
I try to think of her having sex but it is impossible; haughty breeding some how crushed under piety, surely she would lay there eyes teary thinking of Napoleon, Merlin, Dea Matrona?  
Severus body language in itself even more withdrawn and controlled than he usually was. I cringe thinking about them as a couple struggling under the weight of familial compulsion, there was no way that would end well. Poor Severus.

Two months later tucked in the Headmistress' rooms deep in our cups lamenting the mess our lives have become Minerva sitting Grande Dame listening, nods, and asks insightful questions while she plies us with the third best bottle of fire whiskey in her stash.  
Thatcher must have taken lessons from her; looking back I am sure every question she asked guide us exactly to the moment when I tongue whiskey loosened announced to Severus, waving my glass, whiskey sloshing over the sides, "I'd make you an amazing wife Severus, think of the library we'd build."  
He grunted, smiled, his real smile that broke your heart when he showed his teeth, now white but still twisted from his childhood, raised his glass and toasted. "To the books."  
Minvera smiled and topped her glass. "There is merit in the idea." Severus nodded, eyes closed, head back, he spoke slowly considering his words. "She has learnt the power of silence Minerva… and peer review."  
I laughed. "So shall we go to Gretna Green tonight?"  
He turned his eyes on me, narrowed and quizzical. "Ever the Gryffindor Miss Granger. You would bind yourself to me with nary a thought?"  
Minerva's laugh cut what ever I was going to let my foolish tongue spill. "Ha! You are much too inebriated, the magic would not recognize the vows. I swear the two of you drunk." She tisked her teeth. "The most atrocious use of brilliant minds!"  
She sipped, "You will do this the correct way, or not at all. Understand." She raised her glass, we followed. "To the future." It was as good as an oath.

-oSo-

We walked up to the room hand in hand in silence, I don't know why we were nervous; we've talked about this, about why we'd chosen to go through with it; and if I wasn't thoroughly truthful well that's my secret to keep.  
I'd lost my frivolous opinions of Severus the virgin, pining for Harry's mother. There wasn't much he'd say about those times, before. But Lucuis Malfoy didn't share his qualms, and I think, I know he enjoyed slipping me information. It would be impossible for him to hold me down and torture me, but he could give a hundred tiny cuts to my heart, each liberally doused in salt for utmost pain with each name he gave, each story of their youthful indulgences.  
He knew I loved Severus before I did.

"Shall I lift you over the threshold my treasure."  
"Go bugger yourself." He leans close, "Really Granger? If I was bent I would have just married Longbottom."  
He winks and with a flourish of his hand beckons me inside.  
"You'd marry him for the potions supplies even if you weren't bent, but he's too scared of you still." I smirk, "So you get me."  
I flounce past him train swishing.

-oSo-

Minerva did my "interview" it was short and to the point.  
"You aren't a child any more Hermione, you realize Severus is a difficult man. He is no Ronald, he will challenge you at every turn; you can not lead him based solely on your word."  
"I know."  
"Love does not always come in marriages such as this, but maybe … "  
I frown, and sip my water. "I do not think we expect love Minvera."  
"Love comes softly Hermione, I thought you understood that by now."  
"If it comes at all you mean?"  
She folds her hands on the Headmistress' desk. "You are much too young to be so bitter."  
"You are much too old to be so blinded by hope."  
She ignores my statement to sip her tea and gives me her knowing smile. I roll my eyes exasperated.

-oSo-

We are ready for bed, Severus in pyjamas that someone must have forced him to buy, my guess Lucius, green silk they scream rich tacky Slytherin prat. He pulls at his wrist clearly uncomfortable.  
I understand his discomfort standing in a pastel satin and lace nightdress that makes my skin want to crawl off. My mother's doing.  
I point my wand and with a flick of my wrist I am dressed in my usual, a soft tee and matching short. Severus snorts a laugh, a flick of his wand he is wearing his customary black, only this time the trousers are a drawstring waisted soft lounger and the top I'm willing to bet cashmere. It is fitted to his body showing that the war maybe over but he has not done like so many others and run to fat.  
He is slim yet muscled, I let my eyes run over his body noting the faint scars at his neck and how he holds his body erect as if waiting for a sharp word. We haven't talked about this, about the scars of war that are visible, mostly we talk in broad terms careful not to poke too deeply. We have our secrets.  
I run my hand over my chest, over Dolohov's scars, and he takes a half step back towards the bathroom, something in my actions making him uncomfortable.  
"I have scars."  
"I know, I helped to heal them." I give a small dry laugh, how did I forget we've been bared near naked in-front of each other before?  
"We can wait Hermione."  
I find my Gryffindor bravery and step towards him, he takes another half step back. "We could, but I don't want to."  
He stands still, and I step again, something slips past his mask a fleeting look that reminds me, this man is a wizard, a powerful one. I place my wand on the dresser as I pass, he watches me even more carefully as I move to stand chest to chest with him.  
He smells like himself, clean, masculine, tinged with something herbaceous. I move my head closer and take a deep breath. "You smell good."  
My hands come up to his neck and I pull him down.  
"I am a mere mortal Hermione."  
"I know, you told me." I kiss him.

-oSo-

It's well into the courtship, things have settled mostly, the media doesn't sit and wait for us to eat anymore a snap and they are gone, we are no longer a cover story. The howlers have stopped atleast ten weeks prior.  
Molly is still miffed at us. Ron isn't speaking to me. Harry thinks I've lost my mind. The Malfoys have offered a magnificent dowry if Severus marries Marcheline.  
My mother has already booked me at Harrods bridal boutique.

Eileen is a master manipulator with sad eyes each time Severus and I visit, as she lays out new plans for a hand-fasting we don't want. Minerva laughs that we thought it would be easy.  
Severus is in my rooms at Hogwarts waiting impatiently with Harry as Ginny tries to control my hair. I'm silent as she moves my head this way and that, trying to ignore the butterflies in my tummy.  
My dress hangs infront of us, Ginny chose it. That was a mistake, it has no back. She calls it an illusion back, the illusion is that it looks like a dress in the front. Ginny claps her hands, "All done. Up!" She summons the dress and holds it towards me, my hand trembles when I reach for it.

We are half the way through the night before I am forced to remove my shawl for dancing. Severus offers me his hand and my back is exposed as I stand leaving the shawl behind, his grip tightens momentarily that is the only sign he gives until we are back in my rooms.

He slips the shawl from my shoulders, I smile at him, and he drags a single finger softly along my spine. "I am a mere mortal Hermione."  
I smile, it is a sign that I affect him, and I feel powerfully feminine in the moment. "I'll remember that Severus."

-oSo-

It was silly to expect Severus to give up control, he lets me lead for scant moments until he twist and the wall is pressed against my back, Severus against my front, and my brain asks, why did you wait? The kiss deepens and our tongues touch, warmth gathers in my belly as his fingers brush bare skin.  
He breaks the kiss, "I want ... I want you."  
Fuck, he'll be the death of me. I nod. "Yes." My voice sounds strange in my head, a husky tone that I've only read about.  
He smiles and steps back taking me with him to bed.  
I don't know what I thought Severus would be as a lover. I know what Lucius said. I know what my fantasies dreamt up, strong, demanding. He isn't.  
He strips me slowly by hand, smiles at the bars in my nipples, mumbles something about secrets and then he looks at me; a look that's pure possessive heat before he lowers his head flicks the piercing then wraps his wicked tongue around my nipple. I forget to breathe.  
I watch that dark head bob as he suckles on my breast, I feel his cock against my leg fill and firm, then start to leak. Circe's tits! I'm doing that to Snape!

I breathe and it's a pant because I've forgotten how to take a proper breath, as he moves to the next breast and trails a finger down my stomach, through my hatch of hair, between my legs and ghost over my clitoris.  
I dig my fingers into his shoulder. He looks at me gives a lazy smile moving lower, kissing my scars, tasting my skin. I can't help but moan when finally he settles between my legs, spreads my lips, blows, then draws his tongue up, ending with a tap on my clit.  
Then he starts in truth, finger moisten with my juices rubbing slow circles on my clit, his tongue lapping at me. When he starts to suck on my clit as he slowly stretches me, I feel the slow roll of orgasm begin to build, the second finger added does a sweeping motion the second moves against my g stop and he doesn't stop sucking my clit for a moment. I start to tremble, it's all too much sensation.  
I try to push him away, to peddle back, the urge to pee embarrassingly just as strong as my need to come, and then he makes that sweeping motion, and sucks just a tad harder; I come screaming.

Oh God I think I peed in his face! Mortification is immediate. I close my eyes, as he finally lets off of my clit. "Didn't take you for a gusher. Lovely surprise."  
My eyes pop open, feeling him move up my body. I wrack my brain, oh, that was? Wow!  
"I've never had that happen before."  
He smiles, rubbing his cock against me. "Let's see if we can go for a record then."  
I smile and bob my head, as he works himself in slowly with short thrust, whispering. "So tight."  
I smile and circle my hips, and he grabs with one hand, "Stop!"  
Well that's going to leave a bruise. He repositions my legs on his shoulders continuing the short strokes until he sinks in. I can't help but gasp at the feeling of fullness, then he pulls almost all the way out and gives a slow long stroke that brushes against the same spots he touched with his fingers.  
He closes his eyes, and I swear he's reciting potions ingredients as he works up a beautiful rhythm.  
I watch him, eyes closed, hair falling as a curtain then tossed back over his shoulder as he leans his head back, then within a few strokes his head is lowered again and it's repeated.  
I clench around him. I raise a hand to his chest and run a finger over his nipple, his eyes snap open and he moans, a deep rumble from his chest. I did that!

I lick a finger touching the next one, his hips snap, and he makes a sound then drops a hand from my leg to between us, going for my clit, after a moment he pulls my hand away from his chest and replaces his hand with mine.  
"Touch yourself for me." I start my usual pattern, he smiles, raising my hips and sets a rhythm that compliments it, every so often dropping his head to kiss me. I moan, "so close." my eyes are squeezed shut.  
"That's right Hermione touch yourself for me, will you come for me?" I nod, oh his voice, I feel my self contract, fluttering around him, my clit hardens under my finger, he keeps moving brushing against fluttering muscles.  
I keep touching myself feeling waves orgasms build one on top of the other until I feel impossibly tight, and he's still fucking me his head against my g-spot, stretching me. I come one last time screaming, and he follows me not ten strokes after collapsing on top of me.  
He rolls off, and I curl into him as he cast a silent spell to clean us up.  
"I think I owe your mother an apology."  
He sniffs, and pulls me close. "No need to go overboard, send her ten galleons ... it's the going rate for hags hair."


End file.
